


Marie Alternette

by Miss_Emmie



Series: Marie Alternette [1]
Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Elegance TF, F/F, Hypnosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 21:17:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18747298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Emmie/pseuds/Miss_Emmie
Summary: Jeanne Alter faces off against Marie Antoinette Alter, her personality rewritten to suit Marie Alternette's tastes.





	Marie Alternette

Jeanne Alter, who insisted on being called Jalter so she didn’t hear ‘Jeanne’ every time someone spoke to her, had finally found a place she hated more than Chaldea. The sterile grey hallways clogged with noise as servants made asses of themselves constantly, leaving Jalter unable to get any peace and quiet.

 

But this place, this place was worse. She had gone to sleep, something she used as an excuse to be alone for a few hours, only to wake up in a richly decorated palace. The place just screamed ‘French royalty’ which pissed Jalter off. From the feather bed so soft she struggled to crawl out of it, and the richly woven covers embroidered with art, and thick curtains that formed a stifling canopy around her as she struggled out.

 

The room outside was richly decorated with paintings, and silverware, and plants that were alive and needed to be watered by attentive servants. It made Jalter sick.

 

She kicked the door down, and began to stomp through the halls in search of whoever had brought her here.

 

It wasn’t long before a familiar voice spoke up from behind her. “Hello dear, it seems you don’t enjoy the luxuries here.”

 

Jalter turned, and looked down at a woman who looked not quite like Marie Antoinette. Her face and build were the same, but her skin was porcelain and her hair silvery white, and she wore ornate black clothing that seemed suited to a state funeral. “You’re not that frustratingly friendly Rider, right?”

 

“Indeed, I am Marie Antoinette Alter. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Jeanne d’Arc.” The queen smirked at Jalter.

 

“Don’t call me that,” Jalter growled.

 

Marie Alter raised a gloved hand to her lips in mocking scandalized expression. “That’s not the way my latest lady in waiting should talk to her queen!”

 

Jalter reached for the sword at her hip, but in an instant Marie Alter had closed the distance between them, her hand grasping Jalter’s so she could not draw the sword. “Wha-”

 

Before Jalter could protest, Marie Alter stood on her toes and gave the taller woman a quick peck on the lips. 

 

Warmth spread outwards from Jalter’s lips, her entire face blushing as Marie Alter stepped back in an instant. 

 

Angrily, Jalter rubbed the back of her gauntleted hand against her lips, trying to rub off the lipstick she felt smeared on her lips. 

 

She glanced down the hallway at one of the numerous mirrors that lined the hallway to see if she’d wiped it off, and cursed. The lipstick was still on her lips, almost as if it’d been perfectly applied by a makeup artist, and somehow blush had gotten on Jalter’s cheeks as well. And no amount of rubbing would wipe it off.

 

“It’s silly how we’re referred to as ‘Alters.’ As if we are fakes, when in reality I am the true Marie Antoinette and you are the true Jeanne D’Arc.” Marie Alter smiled smugly at the frustrated Jalter.

 

“I’m nothing like that do-gooder saint. Don’t compare me to her, or call me that name. Or you’ll regret it.”

 

Marie wagged a finger. “Tut tut, that’s no way to talk to me. And entirely incorrect. Which makes more sense: A beautiful young woman is publicly executed by people who don’t understand her, but she comes to the Throne of Heroes content with her unfair fate, intent on doing good; or her becoming bitter and angry, one wishing to denounce the God who abandoned her, and the other seeking to never leave the palace she was imprisoned in before the mobs’ violence brought about her end. Those fakes are what people want us to be. Docile, sweet, well-intentioned, and forgiving. But you and I? We’re the versions of Marie Antoinette and Jeanne D’Arc who get to be angry and bitter at our tragic fate. Who don’t bow to the whims of others. Wouldn’t you say?”

 

“Well, I can agree with that. So, I’ll trash this palace of yours and go back to doing what I want!”

 

Jalter reached for her sword, and drew it without interference this time.

 

And in her hand was a bright white parasol. 

 

Marie Alter held up Jalter’s sword. “You won’t be needing this.” She tossed it into a nearby mirror. Rather than shattering, the mirror seemed to part like it was made of water, allowing the sword to disappear inside of it.

 

“I don’t need a weapon. I can beat you with my bare hands.” Jalter tossed the parasol aside and began to march up to the smug servant.

 

Marie Alter simply stood there, smiling sweetly at Jalter as she approached.

 

Jalter threw her first punch, then a second in a flash. 

 

Both missed their targets.

 

Jalter swung a third time, but this time it lacked any strength. Marie Alter didn’t even bother to move, allowing the fist to tap her on the cheek without doing any damage. 

 

Jalter’s gauntlets had been replaced by lacy white gloves that ran all the way up to her shoulders. “Bah! How’d you get these on me?” She tried ripping them off, but it seemed like all her strength was gone.

 

“Ladies don’t need to throw punches, they need nice gloves that keep their hands from getting dirty or bruised.”

 

Jalter growled again, this time ramming her head down to headbutt the diminutive queen. 

 

But Marie simply blew a kiss at Jalter, and a pink cloud got into her eyes and mouth, sending her sputtering back. 

 

“My word, whatever did you blow at me?” 

 

It took a moment for Jalter to realize that she had not spoken like she intended. 

 

“This is not my usual manner of speech. What spell have you placed upon me, my Queen?” Jalter cursed internally. 

 

“I’m simply fixing that dreadful mouth of yours, dear. Your lipstick, blush, and eyeshadow are all so pretty, I decided the words coming out of your mouth should be as well.”

 

Eyeshadow?

 

Jalter turned back to the mirror, and realized that she now had bright pink eyeshadow on. And the lipstick and blush had gotten even brighter. 

 

Turning back to try to curse Marie out again, Jalter realized she had moved again.

 

Jalter tried to turn her head to look around, but something had caught her hair.

 

She pulled, hard, willing to rip her hair out to get out. But nothing worked.

 

Then a glance in the mirror showed what had happened: Marie Alter was braiding Jalter’s hair. Her wild, unkempt mane was being tamed by the delicate touch of the queen. 

 

“Whyever can I not move, my Queen?” Damn the spell on her speech. 

 

“Look at the lovely tiara I placed on your head before I began braiding your hair, my dear.” It was true, there was a silver tiara placed daintily on Jalter’s head. It shone with small diamonds, pale as snow. “Your tiara knows a lady should not wildly whirl about as her hair is being done. So it won’t let you. Just as your makeup won’t let you continue your vulgar manner of speech.”

 

“Why are you doing this, my Queen?”

 

“Because I can always use another lady in waiting. It relieves my boredom to find an uncouth but beautiful woman like yourself, a diamond in the rough if you will, and polish you to perfection. You should be thanking me for my loving attention.”

 

“Thank you, my Queen,” Jalter said, even as she tried to bite back the words.

 

“And, done. I’ve finished your braid.” It was true, Jalter could tell at a glance in the mirror. Her unruly mane had been tamed, woven into a delicate braid that Jalter couldn’t help but find lovely.

 

“Now all we have left is this drab outfit of yours.”

 

With a flick of the wrist, Marie sent Jalter spinning.

 

Everything blurred, and she felt dizzy as she was spun around so quickly it felt like her clothes were ripped from her body.

 

But when the spinning stopped and Jeanne glanced in the mirror, she saw that she was still clothed. She was wearing a lacy white shoulderless dress that clung to her curves, and barely clung to her breasts in order to show off her ample cleavage. It was an outfit she had been made for, the only she could imagine herself ever wearing. That feeling of her clothes being ripped off must have just been the dizziness that had overtaken her.

 

After gazing at her reflection for several minutes, Jeanne saw the clock reflected in the mirror. “Oh dear, my Queen, it seems I’ve gotten distracted and held us up. We’re almost late to tea time! We must hurry!”

 

“Tut tut. Don’t worry yourself, dearest. A woman runs, a lady walks. We shall simply be fashionably late. But as an apology, I expect you to come to my chambers this evening to give me a pedicure.”

 

“Oh, my Queen, I would be humbled by the opportunity. One that could only be had in our beautiful nation of France. Vive la France!”

 

“Say that one time for me dearest, to prove that you worship your Queen and country from the bottom of your heart.”

 

“Vive la France!”


End file.
